


Time is Beginning to Pass Heavily with Me

by big_twinkie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Gen, Post Reichenbach, Reichenbach Feels, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-17
Updated: 2012-10-17
Packaged: 2017-11-16 12:08:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/539253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/big_twinkie/pseuds/big_twinkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock contemplates his return home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time is Beginning to Pass Heavily with Me

Sherlock Holmes sat across from his brother, ignoring his dinner, and trying to decide which compartment of the jet was the gaudiest. Everything was white, and curved, and covered in chrome. The plush carpeting had black and teal shapes that curled around bolted-down leather sofas and coffee tables. Is it an animal print? He can’t tell. It reminds him of schools of fish. There are carpet fish swimming around the cabin. 

“Oil sheik?” he asked, already bored with conversation; ETA was thirteen hours from now. He’ll be stuck in flying metal tube with his brother – for thirteen hours. This will be excruciating.

Mycroft sits across from him cutting his duck into neat little bites. He still favors three-piece suits that are too tight for him—recent weight gain, lack of sleep, still a stress eater. 

“Hmm? No, dictator. He was sweet enough to lend it to me. Do you not approve?”

“Makes me nostalgic for the set design on Star Trek: The Next Generation.”

Mycroft chews slowly. “Hmm. I never cared for science fiction.” He takes another small bite, sips the celebratory champagne. “We haven’t seen each other face to face in nearly three years. Are you not going ask me how I am? Inquire about my health? It’s a long way to Heathrow, after all. Now would be a good time to practice small talk.”

“I am making small talk.”

“No, you’re complaining and looking surly. Would you prefer to travel all the way back to London like a hobo? We have a stopover at Kansai. You could walk the rest of the way… I’m fine, thank you for asking.”

“I can see that you’re fine,” Sherlock smirked. “In fact, you look positively jolly.”

“Don’t be tedious. I should think you would at least be curious as to what your friends have been doing after your untimely death? Contrary to what you may think, we don’t stop existing when you leave the room.”

Sherlock lets his gaze drift back to the carpet fish. He doesn’t want to be here. He wants to be in London, now—reunited with Baker Street, and the work, and his exasperated land lady, and his dearest, most long-suffering blogger. He’s out of place anywhere else, no matter how plush the surroundings. But as much as he wants to go home, he’s also been filled with a sort of dread. No amount of apologies, no matter their eloquence, will be sufficient. And once he gets there, things will not be where he left them. He can’t simply rearrange his life, putting things back where he thinks they belong.

It’s true what they say. You can’t go home again. Not really. Time is a distance you cannot cross.


End file.
